


In Your Veins

by Dream_tempo



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-14
Updated: 2012-05-14
Packaged: 2017-11-05 09:29:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/404872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dream_tempo/pseuds/Dream_tempo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is a Fae and can heal other supernatural beings through sex. Derek is the only one the pack that refuses his help when he needs it. Until now that is...</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Your Veins

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hur hur hur. So this was actually, technically the very first thing that I wrote for the Teen Wolf fandom, but it took me a while to finish it. :P It was originally written [here](http://teenwolfkink.livejournal.com/3353.htmlthread=2031129#t2031129) over at the kink meme on LJ under the name Rich and Strange, but I changed it out because I realized I recycled that title from a WIP I haven't yet posted. :P Oops. Also, I blame whatever weird formatting issues there are on that. :P Though we all know it's just me liking to write all choppy and in short bursts. ^^ 
> 
> Anyways! I'll tell you guys what I told them all there- I'd be happy ending things here, but I'd also be open to making this an open-ended 'verse and just taking prompts from anyone and everyone that would like to see some more. If you're interested feel free! :D

It's... strange, and difficult, you know. But this ability of yours, this thing you can do, it helps people, and- you're good at it. There's not exactly a multitude of other talents that you could focus on, other ways that you could make your mark on this world, and so you have chosen to embrace this one, even if it does have a tendency to earn you more glares and black eyes by way of thanks than anything else. 

And though you are anything but serious in your day-to-day manner, there is nothing but reverence when you have a job to do, and you treat each person with the utmost care. People can say what they want about you, but those who have chosen to stay, and watch you... heal, they know of the almost spiritual way that you work your magic. 

Those who find you through the careful channels that you have laid out- the ones who have tried medicine but are searching for more, the ones who are desperate, the ones who believe, their pleas come up through the pipeline of those involved with the supernatural, and when you can you answer their call. These people- they know you as Genim, and you find the name oddly suiting, so you keep it. 

The majority of these people do not want your snark or quick wit, not even really your reassurances. You are the means to an end, and ones that they would rather not endure, but usually do for the sake of a loved one. You do a lot of work in hospitals, though your prefer somewhere you can access your affinity with nature. 

It takes a while to build up a reputation- first honing your skill (which took an awful lot of awkward self-practice), then putting everything you'd learned to test on others (cue back alley deals and sketchy situations), and finally watching as word starts to spread and you slowly climb your way out of the gutter, establishing a kind of status quo as you do.  
It works like this, rather smoothly you might add, for a number of years and you think that maybe you could be happy with it. 

Until a pack of wolves moves into town and everything goes to hell in a handbasket. There's murders on both sides, humans and supernatural, one paying more dearly than the other, a fire, a tactical retreat, and all is quiet for another small while. At least it seems small to you. Time flows a little differently for your kind, and what seems like the blink of an eye to you, is years of plotting and planning, vengeance tainting minds. 

It starts quiet, a girl gone missing, her mysterious brother returning to find justice on her behalf. Then, a human is turned, something which can never be taken lightly, and the whole conflict seems to start anew. Hunters come out of hiding, secrets buried and forgotten are dug back up, and somehow you find yourself thrown into the middle of it all. 

There's a lot of close calls, some moments when you question yourself and what's become of your life. But despite your tendency towards panic, somehow things come out alright, and for the first time in a long time, you find yourself part of a family. This ragtag pack that's been thrown together, it shouldn't work. With a sour wolf as alpha, a handful of emotional teenagers as his betas, a human girl with an ancestry in hunting, and you, a sprite often too smart for his own good, it should all be a disaster. But somehow it isn't. 

And so while you still do some work under the guise of Genim, they have rechristened you with the name Stiles, and you have your hands full making sure none of the reckless idiots go dying on you. This admittedly causes a bit of tension every now and again, but so far the alpha, Derek, is the only one to have refused your help, until now... 

~~~

Derek stumbles in through the door, barely able to keep himself on his feet, and steels his eyes the second he sees you lounging inside. Immediately you are rushing to him, draping one of his arms around your shoulder and carrying him inside, lowering him down onto the beaten-up couch which is the only piece of furniture that currently populates the ground floor in the ramshackle house the alpha calls home. 

There's a myriad of bruises and cuts across the entirety of his body, blood painting the remnants of his clothes a gruesome color. You don't know where to start, hands hovering over all the damage, but making sure not to touch just yet because of the dangerous gleam in his eyes that is still warning you away. "Don't do this Stiles." His body quakes with the effort that it took him to talk, and within seconds he is coughing, wet and thick, and when he looks up there is blood trickling down his lips. 

Normally you would follow his orders without question, whether because of fear or some kind of loyalty that runs deeper than you'd care to think on at the moment, you're not sure. But his skin is growing sickly pale, and though it could be just your imagination, you think that his gaze is becoming dimmer. So without his permission, you push softly on his shoulder and get him into a reclining position, grabbing at a rip in his shirt and tearing it clean off. 

There's a gruesome looking bite wrapped around his waist and the unmistakable line of claw marks running ragged along his ribs. You look at him in the eyes just once more, wondering if you will get to see them again after this, but you can't let that deter you. Leaning forward, you place firm hands on his forearms to keep him from interfering and start to kiss at the edges of his gashes. The bruising there starts to clear up, a warm tingle blooming across the flesh that comes in contact with your lips as they too begin to be mottled red. 

You nose lightly at his ribs, coaxing his rapid breathing to try and slow before you run your tongue along each tear, breathing over them slowly after they have been wet. Satisfied with it, though they don't look as though anything has started to happen yet, your run your hands soothingly up and down his arms as you kiss a trail over to his hips.  
His breath hitches as you nip at each individual puncture, your own bites not hard enough to mark, but still uncomfortable as that warm tingle starts to become a bit more of a burn. The skin instantly colors beneath the worry of your teeth and the muscles grow taut, anticipating pain, and knot when it doesn't come. You soothe these with the gentle rub of your skin against his own, and soon enough it is time for you to undress. 

Normally this wouldn't phase you, just the next step in a process that has been done a hundred times, but with Derek's eyes on you, your skin heats up and you feel you ears and neck grow hot with the flush that is coloring your own skin. Trying to remain professional, you don't seek out eye contact, but just drop between his knees again and pull at the waistband of his jeans, bring his undergarments with them as you strip him. 

The scent of his musk, primal and heady, mixes with tang of blood, and it all becomes an overwhelming power with the gratuitous spread the aroma, adrenaline and arousal creating so much more of it than would normally be produced. Your hands trail the expanses of his skin, numbing and healing the minor things in their wake as you plant open-mouthed kisses along his legs, taking extra time to lave at the areas that have been mauled. 

Derek tries to stay silent, keep his reactions under wraps and out of the way, but his breathing gives him away- growing labored or thin, hitching or rushing out all at once- varying with all the different sensations that come with healing of this nature. You would take the time to catalogue what they all mean more carefully in a different situation, but now all you can spare is a passing acknowledgment before you bury your face in his groin and sample at the things that make him unique, that can help you to fine-tune the process.  
His hands find their way to your head, eventually everyone's do, and though you can feel their stutter and hesitation, eventually they grip at your skull and try to guide you in your ministrations. You can only indulge him for a few moments before you have to shake his hands off, having to search for injury instead of pleasure. 

You break off from the dampened area that quivers in your absence and risk a glance at Derek's face. His eyes are closed and his nostrils are flared, but some color is returning to his cheeks and his expression isn't quite so pained. This next step is the most crucial, but also the one that most people start objecting to. 

Steeling yourself you rise up on your knees so that your face is level with his and gently push at his chest, urging him to lie down on the couch. There is some resistance at first, but you press your lips to his ear, and breathe hotly into it, licking them in a moment of hesitance before whispering, "I'm going to take care of you, don't worry." There is a gentleness in your tone that you reserve for a very small portion of people, and you think he can sense that because the next time you press your palm against his sternum, he moves with it. 

Not wanting to waste any time, you pull apart his legs and expose him as fully as you can. You can't help but swallow thickly at the sight of him laid open and bare before you like this, so vulnerable. If you were being truthful, you would admit that until this moment you had never seen anything so beautiful, so raw. Your breathing comes out a little ragged as you line yourself up with his entrance, not worrying about too much preparation as the lubricant your kind produces in copious amounts has a way of relaxing and numbing the muscles. 

At the feeling of your head pressing at him, a low growl emanates from Derek's chest, his lips curled back behind his teeth and his hands clenched. "Derek, please." The concentration it takes to lower his hackles is evident, an alpha being sired in this way so against his nature it is probably painful in ways you can't understand. You run your hands up and down his hips, rubbing soothing circles with your thumbs, hoping it conveys your acknowledgment at the gravity of this situation.  
You press inside of him slowly, keeping things shallow for the first handful of thrusts as you work the muscles that have probably never been manipulated in this fashion before. It's difficult to get him not to resist you, clench up every time that you start to work deeper and deeper. You try to be patient with him, try soothing him with your hands, your words, anything, but his chest still heaves and his claws are protruding from the tips of his fingers, tearing into the cushions beneath him. 

You lick your lips and shiver a little as an idea comes to you, but you question whether or not your judgment might be impaired in this situation. Mainly you are worried for him, sick that you might not be able to help in the only way you know how, but you can't deny the arousal that sits low in your belly, your slipping grasp on professionalism as you start to whine and moan at the way he clenches around you. 

It's a split second decision, but you want this to work, and this is so unlike any other circumstances you have experienced. Without warning, you snap your hips fiercely and immediately Derek rises up from beneath you, a roar just starting to rip from his throat, but you lean into it, wrap your arms around his back, and swallow it with a kiss. 

You never kiss your patients, but for once it's for human reasons instead of fae rules. Kissing is intimate, kissing is for lovers. But you risk it, you lick at the sharp points of his teeth, nose at his cheek, slide your lips along the rasp of his stubble. 

And just like that, everything changes. Derek's whole body relaxes into the rhythm of things, slowly his hands come up to grasp at your buttocks, and eventually gripping at them, pulling to try and help you deeper. His erection starts to leak between the two of you and he groans wildly into your mouth each time you find that bundle of nerves up inside him. 

You can feel the moment his fever breaks, feel his blood pound stronger through his pulse points, feel his muscles strengthen, skin knit back together. He lets go of your hips to grab your wrists and pull you flush with his torso, wrapping his legs around you instead and using them to keep you close. His thighs quiver with strain, his heart is hammering at a rabbit's pace, and now he's starting to wolf out for a completely different reason than before.

You should be scared of the way his hold on you starts to tighten in an almost painful way, the way his face begins to change, the way you can hear his bones starting to crack into different positions, but you aren't. You've wanted this for longer than you'd care to admit, and you aren't about to let a little shifting convince you otherwise. 

At this point Derek's own inherent healing abilities have started back up and the both of you know there's no need to continue. You probably could have stopped a few minutes ago, but his teeth are scraping against your throat, so close to breaking skin it has the both of you quaking with equal parts fear and stimulation. You don't know what would happen to you if you were bitten, there's no precedent for one of your people consorting with werewolves, but neither of you is too eager to find out. 

Still, you can't help yourself, your mouth runs away with you in the heat of the moment, never having had much control over it in regular situations, let alone this. "C'mon Derek, give it to me. Taste me, bite me." He growls and as his teeth slowly start to clamp down you strike him just right, and he clenches down around you as he climaxes, teeth coming away so that he can howl his orgasm. This tips you over the edge with him and your strokes stutter and abort as you spend yourself inside him. 

It takes the both of you several minutes to come back down and to yourselves again. When you finally gain coherence back Derek's fingers are stroking at your neck where angry red pricks mark the place where his teeth only just kept from breaking skin. His brows are furrowed and his jaw clenched tight, the hand not fondling your neck curling into a fist. "Hey... Derek, calm down."

His eyes flare red at this and he pushes you off of him as he turns away, hiding his nakedness and the mess you've made of him. "This- this isn't how things were supposed to go." his voice is unmistakably angry, maybe even a little hurt, and you hate to admit it, but you’re genuinely surprised at it. 

So you pull back, stung, and leap to your feet. You don't bother to try and cover yourself, unashamed at what you are and you want him to know that. You walk around in front of him, not hiding anything and summon a hardness to your tone that you didn't even know you possessed. "Of course not. How embarrassing for the big, bad Alpha to be taken by a fairy. What would the neighbors think?" 

You're flustered and angry and feel like crying, but can't pull up the tears, your body so confused at the rapid change of emotions. Just second before you had been so blissed out and now you can't tell if you're more sad or angry. Derek's head snaps up at your comment and his lips are curled back in a feral snarl. "That is not what I said!"

"Maybe not, but it's what you meant. Let's not beat around the bush." Derek's growling at you, eyes daring you to continue, but right now your survival instinct has flown out the door, replaced with the electric stab of betrayal and a burning for retribution. You want to hurt him back and at the moment nothing else matters. "Glad you're not gonna die anymore, you'll need to be at full capacity to try and find yourself another healer. Or you know what? You're all fucking werewolves, you don’t really need one do you? Why don't you trade me out for a good and proper bitch that just gets pregnant when you have sex with her instead." With that you turn to leave, not bothering to grab your clothes, and head for the door.

You don't even get your hand on the knob before Derek is grasping at your shoulder and spinning you around in his arms. "Don't you dare leave!" He pushes you up against the door and cages you in with his body. 'This is it!' you think, 'This is the moment when he finally snaps my neck and just gets on with it.' You close your eyes and wait for the inevitable, for his hands to grab at each side of your head and just twist. 

Sure enough you feel his palms slide across your cheeks and you take a deep breath, trying not to be scared. You think of one of your favorite quotes from the original Peter Pan a book your mother used to read to you before she died, and whisper it to yourself, hoping to alleviate this heavy emptiness you feel settling in around your heart in the final moments of your existence. "To die will be an awfully big adventure." 

But the end never comes, at least you don't think it does. How long does it take to get your neck snapped? Did you miss it? You slowly open your eyes, and you're still in the Hale house, Derek is still standing stark naked before you, but his eyes are clear and soft and for the first time since you met him, you see that he’s crying. "Don't leave me, not you too." 

The air steals out of your lungs, and your heart throbs painfully. Everything still hurts but in a sharper way now and you seem to move forward of your own accord. You don't remember telling your body to do any of this, but suddenly you’re stumbling forward and pulling Derek into your arms, leaning up to kiss him, and he's kissing you back. "Don't leave me..." he whispers against your lips. "That's not- I didn't- You don't understand."

Seeing him like this is more frightening than anything you've experienced before and guilt tastes like bile on your tongue. "What don't I understand?"

"I didn't mean it like that. I didn't want you to have sex with me, but not because I didn't want you. I didn't want you to feel forced into something, I wanted to be with you because you wanted to be with me, not because I needed healing. And now I've fucked it all up." His anger quickly bubbles up to hide his vulnerability as it often does with his kind, and he walks away to punch clean through one of the burnt out walls. "It wasn't supposed to happen like this." 

Your brain starts to short circuit at this new information and you feel light-headed for a moment. "Derek, I-" You're about to make a complete and utter fool of yourself, make a grand romantic confession and spill everything. It's going to be so sickeningly starry-eyed that you probably won't be able to show your face around him for a good week afterwards, but just then the entire pack bursts through the front door.

~~~

It was probably one of the most horribly scarring events of your entire life, and since you're nearly twice the age of anyone in the room, that's not anything to spit at. 

You never stopped to think that proud, stubborn, arrogant Derek would have just called on the pack when he was injured and tried to avoid your help, but it makes sense when they all come bursting through, late as usual. 

Scott has a look of complete and utter terror twisting his face, Jackson and Lydia are both staring with far too curious eyes- Lydia's gaze analytic and questioning while Jackson's could only be described as lewd- and poor, sweet, innocent, Allison looks like a wire has just short circuited in her brain and she has no idea how to compute this information. But they all just stand there, as frozen and unable to act as you and Derek. 

"Uhm... privacy?!" is all you can manage to squawk, but it seems to do the trick as everyone snaps back into focus and start to shuffle out the door. They all turn their heads and try to file out of the house as fast as possible, except for Jackson, who needs a few insistent tugs on his arm, and even then tosses a longing look over his shoulder before he leaves. "I'm just gonna dress and leave now. Yep, that sounds like a really fantastic idea. Might be back in a decade or so, time does slip by though-"

Just before you reach the soiled and utterly beyond saving couch, you feel strong arms grip you around the waist and suddenly the world is turned over as you are hefted over Derek's shoulder. "What the fuck?" You don't get an answer as he trudges up the stairs, using his free arm to restrain your wildly flailing legs. 

A moment later a door is opened and you are dumped in the cool porcelain of the only working shower in the house. Derek looks intense as he steps in after you, starts up the water, and draws the curtain. You're pretty sure that it's beyond the point of personal privacy now, but the gesture is still appreciated. 

Derek still looks a little too... off kilter for you to really pressure him into saying anything yet, so you just stand there quietly as he grabs a clean washcloth from outside the curtain, lathers it with soap, and gently starts to clean the grime, blood, and semen from your body. His expression in unreadable as he does it, but his muscles relax and the tense edge to his eyes starts to dissipate. 

You cooperate with him, turning when he's finished with the front, lifting your arms, unashamedly spreading your legs. He takes him time, breath coming in deep, measured beats. Hesitantly his lips make their way to your ear and let out a ragged sigh. "Don't talk. Just- just let me have this." He sounds resigned, defeated, and it doesn't suit him.  
It takes you aback for a moment, so you continue in your silence, and he takes that as an answer. He continues to clean you as reverently as you cared for him just moments before, and you can't help but allow yourself this moment, even though it sparks a small amount of guilt inside you. 

When he finishes, he spins you back around and places a gentle kiss to your temple. It's the most tender you've ever seen him, more tender than you probably ever will again, but it's breathtaking and assuredly something you'll never forget. Werewolves are only ever supposed to act like this with those special to them, alpha males especially only subjugating around their chosen mate, and sometimes only when they're with child.

You can't take it any longer and so you grab the rag out of Derek's hand, swallowing thickly before beginning the same process that had been completed on you. Derek is much more rigid about it, confused and far more animalistic in his view of sexuality. 

Your people never had qualms about nudity, intimacy, and the like. It comes as naturally to you as breathing and you move with it in any and every situation. Derek's kind have strict rules and meaning in all aspects of it. Pride, possession, power all gets tangled up in it and as a result it comes out mangled, raw, and fierce. 

There's no doubt that it's gonna be hard to reconcile these two worlds, but you're willing to try, willing to deal with whatever might come, if Derek is too. You doesn't voice these thoughts yet, but continue to try and clean your traces from the other male, often times having to soothe him with touches and kisses as you move along those guarded places and expose Derek in ways he would have never thought of. 

You don't push, toeing the line the entire time, but you don't fall back either. Your beliefs are just as dear, just as deeply ingrained, but you're careful. When you're finished, you press yourself flush with Derek's back, wrapping your arms over his shoulders and around his chest, and plant kisses on his spine. 

Derek's hand comes up to hold at your writs, bringing them together and then up to his mouth. He doesn't really kiss them, just leaves them pressed against his lips as he breathes steadily. You don't really know where to go from here, what to do next and it's weird and frightening and utterly exhilarating.


End file.
